


In the Language of Flowers

by eMoussie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Awkward Wooing, Derek is a dork tbh, Florist Stiles, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5297393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eMoussie/pseuds/eMoussie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Bubbles as a birthday present.</p><p>*posting on AO3 hella late though, oops.*</p><p>As always, I'm bad with words. Mistakes are my own.</p>
    </blockquote>





	In the Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BFive0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BFive0/gifts).



> Written for Bubbles as a birthday present.
> 
> *posting on AO3 hella late though, oops.*
> 
> As always, I'm bad with words. Mistakes are my own.

The bell jingles announcing a customer, and Stiles glances at the clock suppressing a groan. It’s his ‘one pm on the dot’ regular. The dude comes to the flower shop Stiles works at every Tuesday and Friday, exactly at one pm. He doesn’t buy specific flowers or bouquets, he just roams around the shop for at least ten minutes until he finds something he likes, picks one flower from the bucket and asks Stiles the meaning of said flower, _the weirdo_.

Stiles doesn’t know shit about flowers - the fact he’s working in a flower shop notwithstanding - except how to arrange them to look decent enough to please the customers. He’s good at the sales part - he could probably sell a dozen dandelions to a horse - he knows how to talk and smile, and pitch the deals to suit different types of people. If anyone asks him for advice on which flowers to choose though, he just offers some of the more expensive ones.

So when he’s confronted with something bizarre as this man and his damned flower meanings, Stiles genuinely wishes to be anywhere but here. The only reason he doesn’t run for the hills is because the dude is _hot as burning_. He’s broad-shouldered, with muscles straining his monochromatic Henley; jet-black hair and eyes that can’t be real,with the plethora of colors accentuating his handsome features. Stiles keeps his hands in the apron’s pockets, to restrain himself from reaching out and _touching_ him.

The guy strides into the shop and starts his route around the shop. Stiles keeps his eyes on him, watches him pass the pots of vibrant pink azaleas, touch a bud of a huge yellow chrysanthemum. He spends awhile staring at a bucket of colorful hibiscuses, and Stiles wonders what he’s thinking right now. Does he like the color of the flowers? The shape? He can’t smell them unless he plucks one out or leans down to scent them; the entirety of the shop is drowned in an abundance of different aromas mixed into one.

Stiles loses himself in thought and slightly startles when he notices the man standing before him, holding a single white ranunculus. They both stay silent for a brief second looking at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

“Do you know what this flower means?” the guy asks, with his eyebrows raised. Stiles wants to judge him, his eyebrows and all of his life choices. Seriously, why does such a good-looking guy have to be so fucking weird.

“Sorry, I don’t know, no,” Stiles clears his throat awkwardly, hoping for this whole ordeal to be over and done with. The man furrows his brows and looks somewhat displeased at Stiles’ answer.

“I’d like this one,” he thrusts the flower towards Stiles and he takes it, going to the counter to wrap it in the paper. After a quick work he holds out the flower back to the man but he just shakes his head.

“It’s for you.”

Stiles feels like he lost him somewhere between pansies and peonies. He keeps holding the flower out, utterly confused.

“I think it suits you,” the guy mutters under his breath, placing some cash on the counter. Is that a blush behind his scruff? That can’t be possible.

“Um, thanks?” Stiles says and watches the guy scurry out of the shop, the bell jingling in his departure.

—

The next day goes pretty much the same. The mystery guy circles around the flowers, chooses a bright red amaryllis, asks Stiles for its meaning and after he mumbles a dry apology, the guy hands the red bud for him to wrap it up.

Stiles fumbles with the wrapping paper trying to stall for a moment, wondering if he’s going to give the flower to Stiles again. The ranunculus is in a bottle on his desk, because he couldn’t find anything else to substitute it for a vase.

When Stiles turns around the man is standing much closer than he was before, in fact he’s so close that Stiles can spot the gold flecks in his eyes. He swallows on a dry throat, first time in his life feeling speechless.

“It really suits you,” the guy says, his voice soft and gentle. His hand brushes Stiles’, when the reaches out to place a bill on the counter, and he smiles briefly turning on his heel to leave.

Stiles keeps standing there, stuck in place with a dumbstruck look on his face.

—

When he gets home that evening, after closing up the shop, the first thing he does is turn on his computer and type “flower meanings” in google.

It’s fair to say that Stiles haven’t felt so embarrassed in his life, after he reads the words _radiant with charm_ and _splendid beauty_ on the screen.

—

Two weeks fly by and Stiles has a handful of flowers decorating his humble abode. He still doesn’t know what’s the deal with the flower guy, but he’s determined to put an end to it today.

He keeps anxiously looking at the clock, counting the minutes till the guy shows up. His lips feel sore from how much he’s been biting on them all day and he probably looks debauched, but not in a good way.

When the door bell jingles finally, Stiles is ready to trip his way over and demand some answers, and maybe ask for the dude’s phone number or _his name_ , because after all this time he still doesn’t know it.

Before Stiles can make a move, the man walks confidently towards the buckets with the most expensive red roses. He stops there and looks down at them with a frown on his face, until he reaches out and takes one flower and smells it. He must like the scent because his face breaks into a bashful smile and Stiles swears his stomach ties itself in knots at the sight.

“I need two dozens of these roses,” the man asks, breaking the silence, adding a quiet please at the end.

Stiles hurries over, trying to not fall on his face, avoids eye contact with the guy, because his cheeks are _on fire_. When he gathers enough roses, he looks up for a moment, finding the guy watching him with rapt attention. Stiles averts his gaze and heads back to the counter, wrapping the flowers into a magnificent bouquet, adorning it with a silky bow.

He touches the buds reverently, hyping himself to gather enough courage to ask the guy out, because this awkward courting has his heart in a turmoil.

“Do you know what red roses mean?”

Stiles startles and turns around to face the man, feeling his heart kick into overdrive. The expression on the man’s face is soft and wondrous, searching.

“I-It means _love_ ,” Stiles stammers out, lowering his eyes down and blushing profusely. He looks up again when he feels a light touch on his arm, and the guy is full-blown smiling at him, looking so damn happy and proud, like Stiles finally answering his question is the best thing to happen all day.

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles says dumbly, clutching at the bouquet like a lifeline, his heart in his throat.

“I’m Derek,” _Derek_ says, leaning in until their foreheads touch gently. Stiles’ feels his joy bubble up in a form of a giggle and he can’t stop smiling, because right now he feels like nothing else matters in the world just this one single moment.

Their first kiss tastes like happiness and an exuberant scent of crimson roses.


End file.
